The fire hissed and spat as another wet log was thrown in. The villagers sat hunched, shadows stretching long across the cavern walls, their eyes still fixed on Amir as if he might conjure more horrors from thin air.
"So…" Lucian finally broke the silence, stretching his legs out with the grace of a bored cat. "Moral of the story? Don't be born a twin."
Selena's hand smacked the back of his head before the laughter even left his lips.
"Idiot. The moral is don't betray your sister and run off to drink blood."
"I mean—sure," Lucian rubbed his skull, "but also, no twins. Safer that way."
A few villagers chuckled nervously, though Lie Jun looked like he was about to faint.
"I don't know how you people are laughing," he hissed, clutching his knees. "There's a flying corpse-juggler outside who kidnaps kids for juice boxes!"
That earned him a real laugh, though short-lived. Because the priestess rose to her feet, her robe shimmering faintly in the firelight. Instantly, the cavern quieted.
"Do not speak his name lightly," she intoned, her voice low, carrying the weight of centuries. "Charora's curse festers with each whisper. We must pray. We must endure. The Ishvara line has always borne this burden, and we will continue to do so."
Heads bowed down around me in respect. It was genuine respect.
The villagers had gathered in uneasy clusters, their whispers carrying through the damp air. All eyes were fixed on the silver stream that rushed down the rocks, steady and unbroken. For a heartbeat it was nothing more than water glinting in the dim light. And then—suddenly—a shadow flickered across the cascade. It was thin at first, like a stain stretching over the ripples, but as it lingered, its form darkened, twisted, and spread across the veil of water.
A gasp tore through the crowd. Women clutched their children close, their voices breaking into panicked cries. "Did you see that?" one shrieked. "God protect us!" wailed another. The sound of fear rose quickly, crashing against the roar of the falls.
And then came a scream. Not the frightened cry of a villager, but something deeper, sharper—so piercing it felt as though it had been torn from the marrow of the earth itself. The scream curled through the cavern, blood-chilling, unnatural. Children burst into tears, their tiny voices wailing in unison, clutching at their mothers' skirts. Some fell to the ground, covering their ears, trembling.
The shadow stretched across the waterfall, long and unnatural, as if the water itself shivered under its weight. For a moment, no one breathed. Then the screaming began.
Shrill, raw terror tore through the crowd. Mothers clutched their children tighter, their cries mingling with the wails of the little ones. Men shouted in panic, their voices tumbling over one another in desperate confusion. My heart hammered against my ribs, and the sound felt deafening against the sudden chaos.
The seven of us didn't wait for anyone to give orders—we moved. Swords hissed free from their sheaths, catching the dim light in fleeting flashes. My hand trembled as I gripped the hilt, but I forced myself forward, planting my feet firmly in front of the villagers.
"Mia," I whispered, though she hadn't moved. She stood frozen, her pale face turned toward the waterfall, eyes wide, reflecting nothing but the rushing silver of water. She didn't lift her hands, didn't sign a single word. She just stood there.
Charora never stepped inside. The shadow loomed over the water, but the entrance to the cave remained untouched. The waterfall kept rushing down, loud and steady, as if mocking the chaos it had caused.
And then—silence.
It was so sudden, so complete, that it felt like the world had been muted. Even the children, who had been wailing only moments before, fell quiet. The air pressed heavy on my chest, each breath harder to draw. My knuckles ached from how tightly I gripped my sword, but I couldn't loosen my hand.
I stared at the falls, waiting for the shadow to move, to vanish, to do anything. But nothing changed. The water crashed down as though nothing had happened.
Mie Lin's voice trembled as she whispered, "What… what was that?"
Even Shahib and Amir, the strongest among us, had gone pale. I saw the way their hands tightened on their swords, their knuckles white. If even they were unsettled, what hope did the rest of us have?
Then a villager broke down. He wasn't just sobbing quietly—he cried out loud, his voice cracking with despair. "We are stuck here!" he wailed. "He put us here… like animals in a cage. There are only fruits to eat—no real food. The children are sick already. Charora doesn't want to eat us… he wants us to starve. To rot away slowly. This is his revenge!"
His words pierced through me like knives. A few women tried to hush him, but I could see their own tears brimming, their own fears trembling on their lips. The children, already frightened, started crying again. Their tiny voices mingled with his grief until the cave was filled with the sound of misery.
The priestess stepped forward, her hands shaking as she raised them, her voice breaking. "No… no, it is my fault. All of this… it is because of me." She pressed her palm to her chest, her face crumpling with guilt. "I should have left this position when I had the chance. I should never have stayed as priestess. If I had walked away, if I had refused, then maybe—maybe this curse would not have fallen upon you all."
A few villagers shook their heads fiercely. "No, priestess, don't say that," one said. "This isn't your fault. You've done nothing but protect us all these years."
But even as they spoke, no one could hide the truth written on their faces. Sadness weighed down every gaze, every trembling lip. Their eyes darted toward the children, who clung to their mothers, too weak to even wipe their own tears. The truth was clear—despite the denial, despite the comforting words, despair was sinking into us like poison.
And I stood there, my chest heavy, feeling the suffocating silence after the screams, knowing deep down… he was right. Charora didn't need to kill us with claws or fangs. He wanted us broken, desperate, starving.
I stepped forward before the panic could swallow us all. My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced myself to meet every pair of eyes—terrified, hollow, desperate.
"Mie Lin, Shahib, Amir… all of you," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "listen to me. We are not going to die here. Do you hear me? We are your knights. We will not let Charora break us. Even if he starves us, even if he traps us—we will protect you. Till our last breath, we stand with you."
For a moment, silence weighed heavy in the cavern. Then… something flickered. Not in them, but in me. A flash of memory—so quick, so elusive—I reached for it, but it slipped away like smoke through my fingers. My head throbbed as if I'd almost remembered something important, something buried.
I shook it off and spoke before the weight could crush me.
"Fear is a cage. The moment you surrender to it, you've already lost. But as long as we stand together, even the gods will think twice before breaking us."
The words left my mouth before I even knew I was capable of saying them.
Every face turned toward me. Villagers. Children. Even my teammates. Shahib's hand tightened on his sword. Amir's eyes narrowed, not in mockery this time, but in consideration. For the first time, there was a shift in their gaze—seriousness, a flicker of respect.
I was the weakest. The one with nothing but a violet core. And yet, right now, they looked at me as if I truly belonged among them.
The priestess wiped her tears, drew in a trembling breath, and stepped forward.
"I… I have a plan," she said.